The Adventures of Pissbaby and Mirajane
by haveyounomercy
Summary: AU. Laxus doesn't understand girls. Laxus/Mirajane, and other side pairings.


**A/N:** I've never shamelessly inserted so many of my guilty pleasures into one fic before. I didn't take this seriously and neither should you.

* * *

Laxus, as a person, does not possess much patience.

Which, all things considered, does not make his current situation very unusual, but as he sits alone on a fluffy red couch in the middle of a day spa waiting room surrounded by big red cushions, he cannot help but note how _very little patience he has left_.

"Ever," he says loudly, but in a tone low enough so that he can thoroughly express his disdain with this ordeal, "Have you finished getting your crusty-ass nails done?" The receptionist shoots him a glare but he returns it with three times the malice. She turns back to her computer.

When he gets no response, he only calls louder, "Ever, have they finished removing the layer of dead skin cells that you scratched off that dude from your one night stand last wee-"

"Laxus." Evergreen steps into the hallway, hands in the air but metaphorically on her hips, "Can you please be quiet? No one wants to hear your undignified shouting. Your voice is bad enough already, but the filth you spew is-"

"Yeah yeah and so is your mother." Laxus interrupts, tapping his fingers on the couch impatiently. "Come on now, my phone died like seven minutes ago and it's not like getting your nails done is going to magically make you less single, so let's get going. Just stick your hand out the window when we're driving home or something."

Evergreen sniffs in contempt as she says, "I will do no such thing. If you're that bored, you can get a treatment done. God knows you need help with… various amounts of things."

"Hey, hey, you know I hate it when you talk about God. This is a clean, PG-13 environment." Laxus drawls, ignoring the receptionist's incessant shushing.

"Bixlow is getting a facial."

"Yeah, because Bixlow is a fucking douche. Besides, what's the point when he always hides behind those stupid shutter shades all the time? Oh right, because he's a _douche_."

The receptionist clicks her tongue. Laxus continues to ignore everyone and talk to Evergreen from across the hallway.

To her credit, as she stands in her stupid little spa robe with her nails half done and waving around in the air, Evergreen still looks like she could kill a man with just her eyes. (Which she has tried to do, many times, on both Bixlow and Laxus, but it never seems to work. Perhaps in a parallel universe in which her life is less difficult.)

She nudges her glasses up the bridge of her nose with the base of her palm and frowns, saying, "I don't care what you do, but if you keep bothering everyone then I'm not going to give you a ride to the car lot. Where your car currently is. Because it got towed. Because you're stupid."

Laxus rolls his eyes and shrugs at the receptionist, muttering, "Fire hydrants are a waste of time and space." She does not respond.

Evergreen retreats with a huff back into her little room and Laxus sinks deeper into those ugly red cushions. He sighs as Bixlow's door opens to reveal the tall man in a green face mask and a robe that's just a little too small. Bixlow grins, his teeth glinting as he chides, "Oh, look at the grumpy little pissbaby all by himself. Does the pissbaby need a burping?"

"You look stupid." Laxus mutters as he averts his eyes.

"And you look like a grumpy pissbaby!" Bixlow says, laughing in an annoyingly high pitch. The other spa guests start closing their doors.

The blonde puts on his headphones, clenching his jaw.

"Pissbaby! Pissbaby! Piss headphones that don't work because he didn't charge his phone baby! Piss won't look as radiant as me because he's too scared to get a facial baby!" Bixlow chants as he starts to dance, spa robe flapping around in an almost obscene matter.

Laxus gets up to go to the receptionist desk, grabs one of those stupid fashion magazines, and immediately throws it with a startling speed at Bixlow's head.

Just in time, Bixlow slams the door shut, but he doesn't leave Laxus alone before cracking his door open, calling out "Nice one, Pitcher Pissaby!", and slamming it shut again.

"I'M NOT A PISSBABY!" Laxus roars.

"LAXUS, ONE MORE WORD AND YOU'RE WALKING HOME." Evergreen screeches from inside her room. Laxus slams his fist onto the stack of magazines, but he doesn't say anything because Evergreen sounds like the devil when she's mad and he's not about to lose an eardum because Bixlow makes up the _worst insults ever_.

So he grabs a magazine, retreats back to his fortress of cushions, and grudgingly flips through it.

Five minutes into some boring article about spring trends that he's reading-but-not-reading, the door bells chime and Laxus is so mind-numbingly pissed off that he doesn't even appreciate the two bombshells that walk into the waiting room. The blonde one starts chattering away to the receptionist and Laxus can't even pretend to be interested right now so he reads another paragraph about moccasins.

It's on paragraph two of moccasins that he glances up and makes eye contact with the chatty one's friend, who is… smiling at him? He stares as she smothers a giggle behind her hand and then follows the first woman down a different hallway.

Laxus thinks about the brief moment that he saw her, thinks about her white hair and big eyes and sweet good-girl aura and snorts to himself. Yeah, like _that_ was gonna happen.

* * *

He wakes up badly, because he can't remember when he fell asleep and his head hurts and Evergreen is standing above him with a curled up magazine in her fist and-oh maybe that's why his head hurts. Laxus stands up, stretches, and wipes the drool off his shoulder.

"Now that you've thoroughly embarrassed me," Evergreen mutters, eyeing Bixlow, "You being _plural_ , I'm ready to go."

Laxus raises an eyebrow as Bixlow shrugs at him. "Small robe," he mouths. Laxus is caught between laughing and making gagging noises.

Evergreen smacks her purse into Laxus' stomach and walks off, dropping the magazine in front of the receptionist (who is just relieved that they're all leaving). Laxus rolls his eyes and swings the bag over his shoulder, making sure Bixlow goes ahead of him so that he doesn't "accidentally" run into another spa room and create more havoc.

Damn, he must've missed something really interesting while he was asleep, he thinks with a half-grin as he slouches his way to the door, so caught up in his daydream of Bixlow running around in his dinky spa robe that he doesn't pay attention as he bumps right into something.

Looking down, he realizes it's a some _one_ and he's stepping on her shoe and oh fuck it's a white sandal, which means it could either be a grandma or a small child. He backs off, grunting out an apology before he realizes it's neither a child nor a grandma; it's that white-haired chick from before.

She gives him another one of those little smiles, which confuses him because he feels like she's hiding something from him and it's really weird because he kinda _likes_ that.

So he winks at her, real quick, flashes a sly grin to make her day or whatever.

Then he watches, in even more confusion, as her brow furrows and she just flat out _stares_ at him for like three whole seconds before her eyes cloud over and her entire face goes sour. Her lips draw into a tight line and she breaks eye contact before spinning on her heel and storming away.

Laxus just stands there because _honestly what the fuck_.

"Are you coming or not?" Evergreen shouts from outside. Bixlow adds in a "Pissbaby!" just because he can.

He hears a door slam shut from deep inside the spa and Laxus rubs his temples because he can't remember the last time he's been this confused. He tries not to think about it and kicks the door open, unconsciously balling his hand into a fist to hit Bixlow with.

 _What was up with that bitch?_ He can't make sense of it even as he gets in the car and throws Evergreen's AUX cable in the backseat before Bixlow can play his shitty pop music.

Why did she give him all those teehee-I'm-amused-by-you vibes if she was gonna act like he had just pulled his dick out in front of her or something?

Was winking not a thing anymore?

He slams on the brakes as he hits a red light, both hands gripping the steering wheel. (Evergreen makes some snarky comment about not being the only one to need glasses.)

Was winking like, grossly inappropriate in some weird cult that she was a part of? Was she a part of a cult? Did cults even allow their members to go to day spas?

"You look constipated." Evergreen says, breaking him out of his spell as the light turns green.

"Constipated-baby!" Bixlow chirps.

"Fuck you guys. For real." Laxus says through gritted teeth as he contemplates ramming the car into the truck in front of them. (But really fuck that girl. Who did she think she was? Who did she think _he_ was?)

Damn if she didn't smell good though. Kinda like lavender.

* * *

Back at Raijin Apartments, where Bixlow and Laxus share a grimy penthouse that always smells like cheese, Laxus slaps a bandaid onto a fresh cut on his arm, courtesy of Evergreen's newly done nails. Bixlow watches with some degree of glee as he eats a banana.

"You probably shouldn't have tried to hook her up with the car tow guy." Bixlow points out, mouth full.

"Whatever, at least this time she didn't mace me." He rolls his eyes, patting the bandaid. He isn't about to complain that it still stings like a bitch, but _it fucking does_.

Bixlow sighs in content as he kicks back in his chair, "Ah, yes. The barfight incident."

Standing up to get a drink, Laxus pauses to rearrange the fridge magnets into some type of obscenity before saying, "You know, we should really find her one of those boyfriend things. Maybe it'll get her off my ass."

"Are you serious?"

"What?"

"Ever has a boyfriend." Bixlow tosses his banana peel into the trash can, "Has had one for like, months now."

Laxus closes the fridge abruptly and stares at Bixlow's stupid shutter shades.

Bixlow merely shrugs and says, "We've been on double dates."

"Okay? What the fuck? It's not like I want to go on your stupid dates, but why don't any of you tell me anything?"

"I don't know dude, you don't really ask."

Laxus gives up on his drink, crosses his arms and huffs. "But didn't she have a one night stand last week? When we found condoms in her purse?"

"Yeah. Those were for her boyfriend. I guess it would be called a hundredth night stand or something."

He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. "But she said it wasn't any of my business!"

"Dude, it's Ever. She doesn't think anything she does is anyone's business."

"Whatever," Laxus mumbles, trying to walk to his room like he isn't totally insulted. "I'm going out tonight."

Bixlow perks up, asking, "Oh, did Cana fuck up and wants to go drown her sorrows in booze again?"

Laxus frowns as he says, "Yeah, apparently the dude she was with stole her money and ran off. Or something like that. She was already pretty drunk when she called me yesterday to talk about it." He pauses, "Wait, how did you know it was Cana?"

Bixlow stares at him with a great deal of pity and says gently, "Dude, you don't have any other friends." Laxus is about to throw something at his head before the big lout shrugs and continues, "Probably because you're a pissbaby and you're not sure if anyone else can handle all your little temper tantrums."

"Hey!" Laxus points at the dry erase board above their TV and sneers, "Rule number 3, character evaluations are only allowed on Tuesdays- _if_ alcohol is involved! Also, fuck you, I'm not a pissbaby and _I don't throw tantrums_!"

Bixlow whistles lowly as Laxus storms off into his room. He remembers how he used to be like that, all tightly strung and bitter and kind of over-the-top. But that was before he started having sex regularly.

"Maybe you need to get in a relationship too." He calls out.

"MAYBE YOU NEED TO FUCK OFF!" Laxus screams back.

Ah, well, Laxus is Laxus and the last time he broke up with his girlfriend, he threw Bixlow off their three-storey balcony just to get rid of his anger. Bixlow remembers being driven to the hospital in a panic after that, and being oh-so-gently carried out of the backseat and onto a stretcher while Ever showed up out of nowhere and slapped the blonde with a phone book.

"I didn't know you were that fragile. Sorry." Laxus had said in a quiet murmur later that night in the hospital as he sat beside Bixlow, who was supposedly fragile for having _several broken bones_.

So maybe Bixlow should just mind his own business.

* * *

Laxus feels like he's being transported to a new dimension as Cana pulls him into her latest favourite hangout. The ceilings are high, with clouds of smoke spiralling towards the top, floating past cartoony portraits of pop culture icons and old time movie stars. The floors are wooden, creaking with all the chairs being scraped around the bar, and the mahogany bar counter at the side is the only thing clearly lit under the soft lights and smoke.

"This looks like an indie movie set." He offers when Cana grins up at him, eyebrow raised. She rolls her eyes, flips her black curls over her shoulder, and saunters her way over to the bar.

He knows that she's in her element here, with her midriff bared and her eyes hooded, laughing at her friends (she has friends at all the bars she goes to), looking both the part of the sultry bar maid and the neighbourhood tomboy.

But he also knows that she doesn't call on him unless she wants to drink a lot, because when she really drinks a lot she talks endlessly, stories pouring into one another and weaving together to become some sort of bullshit saga about how she can never find Mr. Right.

And Laxus is the only one she ever seems to wants to talk about this to, for reasons beyond him. Maybe it's because he doesn't ever give her advice; maybe it's because he's strong enough to piggyback her home.

And when they finally stumble back to her place, before he passes out on her couch in drunken exhaustion, he has to drop her down on her bed as the sun is about to rise. He always tries his best not to wake her, but she always does, and she always cradles his face in some odd sort of gentleness and kisses his cheek with tears in her eyes.

Hours later, she'll make him eggs and they'll chug Gatorade until they feel alive again.

This is their routine, has been their routine, and if he was the sentimental type then he'd have fallen in and out of love with her a million times.

But he isn't, so sometimes he drops her a little too roughly and she wakes up with bruises because he decided to get into a fight on the way home with her on his back. Sometimes he laughs right in her face when she cries in the early hours of the morning and sometimes she wakes him up by belching in his ear.

Besides, in fifth grade he watched in horror as Cana ate a whole beetle for a dare. He could never kiss a mouth like that.

* * *

Halfway through their third arm wrestling match, Laxus tries to ignore Cana's nails digging into his flesh and asks, "So who was it this time?"

The grip on his hand tightens as she says through gritted teeth, "Bartender."

"Dude. Bartenders are always off-limits."

"Yeah, well, this one wasn't. Or at least, I thought he wasn't."

"Okay. So that's your fault."

She huffs the hair out of her face, about to tell him to fuck _all_ the way off when the music cuts abruptly. "It's starting!" She says, grinning as other tables murmur in a mixture of excitement and confusion.

Laxus takes the time to slam her fist into the table before disgruntledly looking around. "What's starting?"

Cana just pushes a half empty beer pitcher into his winning hand, shushing him.

The bar's lights go out, replaced by strings of fairy lights strewn around and across the center counter top. It gives it all a hazy, dreamlike sort of look, but Laxus can't tell if it's supposed to be like that or if he's just been drinking a little too much.

"It's starting!" Someone from another table whisper-yells.

Laxus can now hear someone's heels tapping over the wooden floors, moving through the dark tables as the rustle of clothes brushes past his ear and he smells something familiar that he can't place.

"It's Mira," Cana says in a dreamy sort of sigh. "I don't expect you to appreciate this though, it's too artsy."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Laxus turns to ask Cana before he gets shushed again, this time by the strumming of guitar strings.

"Hello," says the girl who has now appeared in the middle of the lights at the bar. She smiles with both her eyes and her mouth while strumming another chord. Her guitar, a dark brown, stands out against the light blue top she has on.

She looks like a fairy.

"I'm obsessed with her." Cana murmurs.

Laxus continues to stare at her dark blue eyes, at her long white hair that falls in waves around her face, at her slender frame that seems to take up so much presence behind the dimly lit bartop. His eyes widen.

"Oh my god," he says under his breath. "That bitch."

She begins to sing.


End file.
